


In The End

by SparkBeat



Series: Desert Wings [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Sticky, barbarian au, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5737927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkBeat/pseuds/SparkBeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some fluffy smut to get me back into Desert Wings, set after the end of the actual fic that I ... haven't written yet ^_^;</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The End

Rung was still asleep when Wing woke, for once, and the freshly repaired Knight smiled, propping his helm up on one servo and studying his dozing mate. The weld scars and stress cracks in his paint nantes were still new, still fresh in both their minds from their time with the functionists, and the battle after, but they were both  _ alive _ . Nothing on Cybertron mattered more to him at this point, and his free servo was tracing soft, soothing lines up and down the small nomad’s spinal strut before he even realized he’d moved.

 

Rung sighed, stretching out on his front and peeking one optic open to look over at Wing from the shadow of his crossed arms, and the hint of a smile curved the corner of his mouth.

 

“Morning, love.” It was murmured sleepily into the nest, instead of to Wing directly, and he smiled, splaying his servo flat on the narrow expanse of orange plating and leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of that smiling mouth.

 

“Morning yourself, sleepy.” He teased, hooking the servo on his back around twitching abdominal plating and pulling the lightweight frame closer to his own. Rung’s chuckle morphed into a moan halfway through, and he shifted till he was pressed firmly up against Wing, back to chest, aft to pelvic array.

 

Wing curled over the other, mouthing at antennae and letting his servos wander freely over plating. The servo he’d been leaning on slipped beneath Rung’s frame, his broad palm pressing over the warmth of that beautiful spark glass, fingers curling around the edges and teasing at the sensitive seams there, mindful of the spiderweb scars that weren’t visible to the naked optic but still felt like speed bumps under his fingers.

 

His other servo slid slowly down from thin, flexing, abdominal plates to cover the quickly warming span of orange plating between slim thighs. Rung pressed up into the touch, free with the soft sounds that escaped his vocalizer as Wing teased and touched, mouthing on antenna, then shifting him effortlessly up so he could reach willingly bared neck cables. All the while, his fingers stroked heated plating, alternating between soft, barely there teasing and firm, heavy touches that had Rung shivering in his hold.

 

“W-wing, I-” Rung bit his lip, curling both servos around Wing’s on his spark glass.

 

“Whenever you’re ready, love. We can stay just like this, or we can get up and greet the day...Or…” He trailed off, not wanting to pressure Rung if he wasn’t ready to go any further, but the therapist turned nomad was having none of it, tilting his helm back to watch Wing and rocking into the touch.

 

“Or?” He prompted, drawing his lower lip back between his dentae and watching Wing curiously.

 

“Or...you could open up for me, and I could overload you with my fingers, get you nice and slick and ready for me? I could spread you open, fill you up, till all you can think about is me, till all you remember is my touch, my name, till there’s nothing left but you and me.” Rung moaned, panel sliding open, catching slightly on its track, damage not yet fixed from their time in the city, but they both chose to ignore it as Wing’s fingers slid over the still shut secondary iris of his spike cover, finding the glowing little nub of his anterior node and rolling it beneath his thumb.

 

There was no more talking, then. Just the whine of cooling fans, and breathy little gasps and moans, shifting plating and the slick sounds of Wing’s fingers as they teased his mate open, pressing in one by one. 

 

When Rung overloaded around his fingers with a sharp cry, fingers tightening near to denting on his forearm paneling and frame curving back to press flush against him, Wing smiled and pressed a kiss to his coolant covered plating. His thumb still pressed down on that now swollen bundle of sensors, drawing out the little aftershocks of pleasure while Rung twitched and gasped, slowly coming back to himself.

 

Withdrawing from the rhythmic clench of his valve, he made to raise up, shift them in the nest so he could face his mate, but Rung shook his helm, rolling onto his front and dragging the knight over with him, so he was completely covered by the larger bulk of his mate. Wing hesitated, spike pinging for release incessantly by this point.

 

“Rung?”

 

“Please, Wing!” Rung pleaded, pressing his aft up against Wing’s plating, and Wing found he couldn’t resist, not when the smaller mech asked so nicely. 

 

When he pressed in, slowly, carefully, despite the previous preparation, Rung squirmed and whimpered. He had one cheek pressed into the soft bedding, optics glowing and mouth open to supplement his cooling fans.

 

Wing leaned down, letting a little more of his weight rest on his mate, and Rung leaned into the kiss he pressed to his cheek with a smile, valve clenching tightly around his spike.

 

After that, it was over far, far too quickly. The promise of safety, of them both being whole, and together once more, it was too much to draw out for long, and Wing overloaded seconds after Rung, pressing tightly against his frame and burying his cry in the juncture of that slender neck and shoulder. He stayed there, gasping, plating flared, until Rung finally started to giggle and press back against him in an effort to roll them over and get some cool air of his own.

 

“Love you.” Rung grinned when they resituated themselves on the furs.

 

“Love you too.” Wing replied, pulling him up to splay across his cockpit, pressing kisses to that little indent where his goggles had sat for years. 

 

If it wasn’t for Ratchet eventually barging into their tent and demanding that they both ‘get the frag out of bed and let him check their healing progress for slag’s sake, do you  _ want _ to fly in circles the rest of your  _ function _ ?!’, they would have been content to lay there for forever. 

 

That’s not to say that they didn’t fall right back into the nest once Ratchet was done with them, for a repeat performance with Rung in Wing’s lap, making up for lost time.


End file.
